Confessions of a Priestess
by Synbu
Summary: She knows she's blaspheming, but she knows she's right. No flames, please.


A/N I suppose this is what you'd call a spur of the moment writing. Review- I will reward those with cupcakes and ice cream. Flame and you will be fed sulfuric acid. I have spoken, and so let it be.

This can't be right- I am a high priestess of Lloth. I cannot be thinking this. And yet…it's true. I have no devotion, no faith. I can't understand why. All my life, I've been told how I am superior to my brothers, how I must watch my sisters for every turned back is a vulnerable one. I've been told that one day, one of us will kill my mother and assume her place as Matron Mother; I've been told that our current Patron was nothing but a worthless soldier who had the luck to catch they eye of our Matron. I can't rightly call her Mother- she who flayed us all within an inch of our life whenever one of us deviated even slightly from the chaotic and dark manipulations of Lady Lloth. I can only call her Matron- Overseer would be a better term, though, as Matron implies a motherly warmth.

I suppose, though, it fits better than anything every could- the irony is biting and clever. Ironies are the specialties of Lady Lloth. I confess, I, myself, appreciate the delicate art of irony. Why, we are possibly the only race upon Toril with such an amazing web of intricate ironies. Our houses are beautiful, and yet our practices gory and violent; our wars are structured, ordered and yet each soldier strives to spread chaos. Lady Lloth herself represents chaos, and yet we follow her in a rigid social order. I suppose a great blasphemy that is somehow accepted by us all is the social order itself- males below females. It is never mentioned that, though they are low, we need their very presence, or the lines fail. I suppose we all realize that at some point or another. Ironic, also, is the appointment of males to the post of sorcerer- it's almost as if we're encouraging their rise to power by feeding them arcane tomes. I must say that I know nearly nothing of wizardry and sorcery- that is the domain of males, and I, as a female, cannot lower myself to their level.

Irony. It is irony that will destroy this, I believe. Irony, I suppose, would represent Lady Lloth better than any spider every could. She is the snow in spring, a beauty steeped in madness, a life spent rigidly following instincts- she is not one thing, but two. She is our goddess, but our scourge, too, I fear. I could be tortured to death for even thinking those words…but every priestess- every drow, in fact!- must accept this, or survival is not granted. Lloth is not the Spider Queen- she is the Empress of Ironies, the Taskmistress of Chaos, an insane goddess. Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad compete frantically for her favor- her attention….and yet, one does not want Lloth's attention; if anything, the farther she is from us, the better. But we still compete for her affections- if they can be called that. Once again, irony. She shows us affection by demanding more sacrifices, more destruction, and more chaos…and when we comply, we lose her favor by destroying all that she represents.

It is unwise to serve a goddess who can't decide what she wants. I say again, I am without faith, without devotion, for who in Menzoberranzan knows of such a thing? I know not what it would feel like to genuinely care for another- I know only how to care for myself. I don't know loyalty- all is for me and for me alone. We say our accomplishments are for the glory of the Spider Queen and her handmaidens, but in the end, it is only us.

…I find it rather a lonely existence. We are all, when you come down to it, alone. I don't have a family- I am an inmate amongst other prisoners who, while docile at the moment, would seize the first chance to annihilate me in an attempt to rise within our pathetic little ranks. I suppose one believes it to be escape. I don't think it is, for the Spider Queen is there- always there- watching and waiting, giggling with delight at the confusion her ironies exact upon us.

In the Academy, one is taught that Lady Lloth took us in after the Faeries cast us out- she found us when we were lost. I must ask- aren't we still lost? We know not how to please our goddess, since we cannot possibly know what she wants. I wonder sometimes, how would it be if **we **forsook her- how it would be if we found a god that would at least show us a way to be. Lloth shows us no way- she forces us to live a ruse of a life, always looking over our shoulders and never trusting. We know not of what awaits us…or even if we are guaranteed a place in someplace. I sometimes wonder- why do we serve a goddess who does not even name her rewards? Why do we blindly follow a Lady who cannot find her own way?

…I suppose we've become so lost we cannot find our way out…not even to save ourselves.

I don't believe, but I must. I think this, but I can't. Lloth must be in the throes of laughter at my antics- I can't be both, but I must be. I have to follow my own desires, but cater to hers at the same time. I wonder, then, how can she desire anything? She just blindly flails at things, but never reaches out and grasps them. She knows a general direction, but cannot find a way.

She is lost, just as we are.

…Perhaps, then, we're perfect for one another.


End file.
